


Bad Day

by gaylock



Series: Songfics [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, John is mad at Mary, John-centric, POV John Watson, She cheated on him, Songfic, bad day, based on the song bad day, basically i hate mary, but i also love her so there will probably be a pro-mary fic in this series soon, john is an angry man, john is very conflicted, johnary but not really, mary is oblivious, she doesnt know john knows, she is a liar and a cheater, so like, their marriage is falling apart, this fic is a product of that hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 23:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7912237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaylock/pseuds/gaylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>based on the song Bad Day</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Day

John's step was heavier than usual as he walked into his living room. Mary glanced up from the television.

"Had a bad day?"

"Yeah. Something like that." John glanced at the telly, avoiding her gaze.

She shrugged and turned back to the show she was watching. "Kettles on, should be ready in a moment." 

John stared at the back of her head for a minute, not responding. When two minutes had gone by, Mary turned around with her eyebrow raised in question. He wrenched his gaze away and shrugged, moving towards the kitchen where the kettle was screaming shrilly.

He didn't bother to check if she had turned back to the telly. He just removed the kettle from the heat and stood leaning against the counter, a frown on his face and his eyes unfocused. He hadn't been lying when he'd told Mary he'd had a bad day. He just hadn't meant it exactly as it sounded. Work had been just like always, it had been perfectly fine; it was the rest of his day, the rest of his life really, that was bothering him. Bad day today, and bad day yesterday. Probably a bad day tomorrow, as well. He sighed and lifted the kettle up, pouring the water into his favourite mug, starting his tea preparation. That's how he dealt with his problems, wasn't it? Drink tea and don't talk about them, and they'll go away. He snorted caustically, moving with his tea into the sitting room. He watched his wife watch telly for a moment, debating whether or not to sit next to her, before deciding he was too tired for this and sitting down in his arm-chair instead. 

Mary turned for a moment to smile at him blandly, before going back to her show. He smiled back, but she'd already turned away. He let the smile slip off his face and hid a sigh in his cup. John tried to watch the show, but couldn't really understand what was going on, and so he let his eyes wander around the room. A lamp, a painting, some trinkets and baubles, both his and Mary's medical certificates. And their wedding photos. He looked at them on their wedding day, arms around each other and smiles so bright they lit up their faces. John sipped his tea and stared blankly ahead, looking at neither the television set, nor his wife, nor the photographs; just stared at some point in the air between them all. As his eyes wandered, so did his thoughts. He began to think about his wedding day, and all the day's leading up to it, and the months following. He remembered all the passion and love he and Mary felt, all the magic that seemed to be in the air, the tension and lust and desire in their eyes when they caught each other's gazes. 

And then he thought of his wife, shooting his best friend, and he thought of how angry he had been. How betrayed he had felt, how desperate he was for it to all be a lie, a dream, a nightmare. It hadn't been, of course. His wife was a former assassin, willing to sacrifice his best friend so that her husband would never find out about her secret. John sighed and frowned. But it was fine, it was all fine, wasn't it? He had forgiven her. Sherlock was right, he'd chosen her. So it was all fine. It had to be. She was having his child, and he had made vows, and if John Watson was anything, it was loyal.

But it didn't matter how many times he told himself that, because now, after it all, the passion was gone. The desire was gone, the magic was gone. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he said "I love you," he couldn't feel the way he used to. He just couldn't.


End file.
